


Safer in the Dark

by sp201120122013



Series: mon coeur c'est dans la catacombes [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:17:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp201120122013/pseuds/sp201120122013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean takes Marco away from the battlefield following the attack on Wall Rose, carrying him to a safe place where they can be alone together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safer in the Dark

"You're not dead," Jean muttered to himself, crouching on the ground beside Marco. His knees bent easily, mechanically, trained to move no matter what was happening inside of Jean's head. His entire body was that way, a perfect network of coordinated muscles. Nothing would hinder them from doing their job, no kind of trauma.

Jean's hands worked as well as his knees, fingers grazing across Marco's face (the remaining side of it) before straightening Marco's collar. Mechanically. Jean had always done it before, before every inspection they had to go into together. Marco had always been a little sloppy, a little absent-minded when it came to following uniform regulations. Even now, he wasn't on point. Of course, Jean wasn't thinking of "even now" in the context of Marco being dead. Marco wasn't dead, he wasn't. It was "even now" in the context of the huge fight they had just endured. Even after a huge fight, Marco still couldn't straighten himself afterwards. That was the context of it. That was what Jean was thinking.

Jean's hands started working past the wrist, muscles of his arms tensing up as he hoisted Marco over his shoulder. Briefly, Marco's lips brushed Jean's ear, and Jean shuddered the way he always did. Marco's warmth was seeping through his jacket already, down through the multiple layers of cloth to his skin beneath. Jean held Marco around the waist, one hand on his shoulder and the other arm cupping Marco beneath his rear. It was going to be a long walk back to safety. But they had gone on longer walks together before. This was just another hike for them. For both of them. They were still together, even now. Even after the fight, Jean clarified to himself in his head. Even now just meant after the fight, he repeated again as he squeezed Marco tighter to him.

The walk was long and ugly, great heaps of Titan mucus lining the streets, puddles of blood pooling in the gutters. Jean kept his eyes down to the ground, watching his own feet stepping over bricks and Marco's feet swaying in front of his knees. Marco's boots were scuffed. Jean would have to polish them for him when they got back to their barracks. He would polish them while they were still on Marco's feet, and he could rest his head against Marco's knee once he finished. And Marco's hands would be right there, both of them rubbing his head, checking Jean's hair for lice and dirt. 

Jean ignored the fact that he only felt one of Marco's hands limply slapping against his back at the moment.

He had never truly realized how big the area they had just defended was, never having to walk through it like this before. He was strong, he was mechanical, but Marco was heavy on his shoulders and it had been a long day. It had been a very, very long day. His breath was hot inside of the bandana where it was trapped, and his eyes were beginning to water with exhaustion. Jean started looking for a place to stay, peering through the broken windows of empty houses to look for a place secluded. A place for him and Marco to rest, alone, with no interruptions by Titans or by duty.

It would only be a little while. Certainly not long enough to cause either of them to be reported missing in action, dead or otherwise. Jean reached for a doorknob to a relatively intact house, the door creaking quietly as he stepped inside with Marco. He was quick to shut it behind him, immediately turning around to look for a secluded room or stairs to a basement. He saw the stairs first, and began the delicate process of carrying Marco down into the darkness. They wouldn't need any light. They had each other, and there wasn't any need, not even any room for light in that. 

Jean reached out with the toe of his boot, searching for a final step and only feeling flat dirt. So they had reached the bottom. Jean took a few more steps into the cool, dark space, reaching out with a hand and shifting Marco's weight on his shoulder. He reached the wall after a short while, and exhaled in relief. He let himself slide down it first, leaning his back against the wall and then hauling Marco off of his shoulder, letting him slide into his lap instead. Marco slumped against him, and Jean sighed, burying his face into Marco's shoulder. On this side, Marco's face was still intact, and his soft cheek rested cold against the top of Jean's head. Jean's breath was hot against Marco's neck, bouncing off of Marco's skin and back into Jean's face. They both smelled of sweat, sweat mixed with something else on Marco's half. Blood, Jean said to himself. It was just blood. Nothing else.

He started to run his hands up Marco's back, still keeping to the side he knew was still there. Briefly, the sleeve of his jacket caught on the warm, wet part of Marco that was torn open. It was only lukewarm at this point, and Jean wrenched his arm away in horror. It wasn't anything, he reminded himself. Marco was still here. Marco was right here, pressed against him as he always was. The fact that he was so quiet, the fact that he was so still didn't matter. They didn't need words, and Jean could move enough for the both of them, speak enough for both of them.

"Marco," he muttered into the other boy's ear, leaning on close to kiss beneath it. "You can still hear me, right?" 

Jean reached up to tilt Marco's head to the side slightly, kissing the intact half of his mouth. He didn't know if Marco's tongue remained inside, but this wasn't the time for that anyway. He didn't need anything hot or sloppy from Marco. The only thing he needed was Marco himself, the body he was pulling close against him and wrapping his legs around. Marco's hips were intact, and his gear was hanging off of him the way it always did. Jean moved his hands to Marco's hips just as he always did, to unbuckle the belt and let all of his gear fall off of him. The metal clattered to the floor, echoing too loudly in the room for Jean to handle. He recoiled at the sharp sound, squeezing Marco tighter to him and pushing his face into his neck. 

If Marco could still speak--no, if Marco chose to speak right now--he would be quietly shushing Jean. He would be telling him it was okay, and that there was nothing to worry about.

"It's okay, right? And there's nothing to worry about," Jean said for himself into Marco's shoulder, pulling the collar of Marco's shirt down to kiss at the skin there. He knew this shoulder well, knew the exact pattern of the freckles on it, how strange it was that the pattern was almost identical on both shoulders. The other shoulder that was hidden in the darkness at the moment. It was only that Jean couldn't see it right now, so he focused his attention on Marco's other side. 

"Marco, here," he whispered, tucking Marco's arm around him, feeling it settle around his ribs like it always did. The fingers didn't move of their own will, but Jean knew they'd be gently skidding along his skin, starting to push him down onto his back. Jean didn't expect that tonight, though. But it was all right. He and Marco needed time, and positioning was irrelevant. "I've missed you," he whispered again, adjusting himself so that he and Marco's hips were touching, their chests pressed together among other things.

Jean was well accustomed to the curves and the angles of Marco's body at this point, but it never stopped the reactionary rush he felt every time their bodies touched. It had started a long time ago, started when they had first met inside of training and their hands accidentally brushed together. His stomach had dropped, and Jean instinctively felt for Marco's hand upon recalling the memory. He laced their fingers together, pulling Marco's arm and body tighter to him as he let another hand reach for Marco's backside, pushing it into his hips as he started to rut up against him. His breathing started to hitch up, his body growing hotter against Marco's. It made Marco's body start to feel warm again as well, which only made Jean bury his head harder into Marco's shoulder, nipping gently at the skin there. Marco had always loved pointing out how neatly Jean's hickeys would frame his freckles the next day.

There would be a next day, Jean thought as he started gasping into Marco's skin. There would be plenty of days after this, days when he could step into the light with Marco again, mornings he could roll over and see Marco in the early morning sunlight next to him, tucked into his bunk, hidden quietly in the curtains. There was going to be time after this, time for more than what they had right now. Jean was painfully hard inside his pants, pushing against Marco as hard as he could manage, pulling the other boy's hips into his. Marco wasn't soft. Jean could feel him too, damp as he always got. It was Marco's precum that was damp against the front of Jean, and it was Marco's sweat that was wet against his upper half. That was all it could be.

He came with a whimper, breathing sharply and catching it in his throat as he always did. He felt it hot and sticky in his pants, and he reached his arms around Marco tightly to squeeze him as he always did.

But Marco wasn't half as thick as he normally was. Where Jean normally knew two arms to wrap around his own body, to keep him tight and talk him through his finish, there was a gap. A hot, sopping gap. Jean's mind reeled with horror as he rode out his orgasm with only his own sounds bouncing around in the dark, a silent Marco only a partial weight above him. But it was Marco. Marco was still here, Jean still had Marco. Even if they were only half-holding each other, they had each other. "There's no one else," Jean whimpered. "No one here but us," he panted into Marco, his breath catching again as he touched an empty hole of Marco's body and had to reach around for a more solid part to hold. He clawed all down Marco's side, looking for shoulder, for arm, for side, and found nothing.

"Marco!" Jean hissed. "Marco!"

"Jean?"

Jean's neck snapped up to the stairs, raising his arm in front of him to the bright light streaming down. There were two lanterns up there, descending the stairs and coming closer and closer to Jean.

"Stop," he mumbled, burying his face into his arms. "It's too bright, stop," he repeated. He felt the weight of Marco fall off of him, heard Marco's back gently thud against the dirt floor where he fell.

"Jean, are you all right? Are you injured?" 

"Don't come down here!" he yelled, raising his head up to squint in the new light flooding his basement. "I'lll be up--"

"Oh my god," one of the other voices said.

"I said leave!" Jean cried out again, eyes widening to the brightness now. They were scratchy, salty with tears he hadn't known were coming out of him until now. He drew in a sharp breath of air, turning away from the lights, looking down at himself. Blood. Covered in blood. He couldn't look at himself.

Jean's neck wrenched in the opposite direction, searching for Marco next. Marco, Marco was still here. He needed to find Marco, needed to carry him out to safety before someone else could take on the responsibility. It was Jean's responsibility. It couldn't be anyone else's. But he couldn't find Marco, needed to find Marco, needed to carry him out.

"Marco? Marco? Marco!" Jean hollered, yelling until his voice started to go hoarse.

Marco was nowhere far from Jean, though, and Jean knew that. He knew that Marco was right there before him, body pushed under Jean's hand as he desperately knelt over it, sobbing into the holes the Titan had torn out of Marco's body. Illuminated in the light was Marco's mutilated face, the missing eye, the halved mouth. Jean reached out for an arm that wasn't there, collapsing onto the remaining part of Marco's torso and shutting his eyes to the lanterns above him. He wasn't going to go with the light, he wasn't going to return to the world outside of the basement. Not without Marco.

He wasn't going to be able to do it without Marco.


End file.
